Sunday, 22 February 2015

I float
on a pool of memories,
bouyed by love I held or spent,
recall the warmth of strangers
through each landscape, town
and road I walked, of art explored
and all its paths I dreamed to take.

Beneath me lies
the hidden depth of time
supressed and filtered out,
where spectres of regret and pain
would churn soft waters into mud.
My hermitage and its constraint
the cost required to stay afloat.

Wednesday, 14 January 2015

Today

We accept
in increments,
adapt to broken limbs,
the havoc of wild storms
or someone with a gun,
seek comfort in the past.

We bind ourselves,
cut freedoms we enjoyed,
shun those in need of help.
Are told it gives protection from
the unpredictable next strike,
find metaphors in sport.
Restrict the movement
of young growth and
strangers on the fringe.

We ignore the signs,
our experts who proclaim,
the superficial brightness
of green leaves and
narrow train of thought,
masks the rot within.